


This is Fine

by TheSiameseMagpie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author likes to swear, Be Gentle With Me, F/M, Grimmauld Place, Harry is a seer - Freeform, M/M, Not Beta Read, Obsessive Behavior, Sirius is adorable, Slow Burn, Song references, Torture probably, Voldemort isn't a goddamn snake demon, animagi, first fic, through hallucinations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15248772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSiameseMagpie/pseuds/TheSiameseMagpie
Summary: "His footsteps sound like an invasion into what remains of James and Lily Potter’s home, a noise that suspends the dizzying silence Sirius first felt ringing through his ears when Albus called him, told him that the Potter house had been attacked."





	1. Last Night I Looked Up into the Dark Half of the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically me just being tired of the lack of satisfying Tomarry fics to read because this is ship is my absolute favorite thing in the world.  
> The first chapter is just going to be a brief introduction. The second will start at the beginning of Harry's first year, and the events of each school year will be hella different (except for the third, literally nothing happens in third year). Fourth year is where things start to speed up. Since this is a pretty large canon divergence, the events of this fic will be much, much different from the books. I've already pre-planned a lot of the plot, but if I've left anything hanging, just let me know.  
> There'll be smut in this, I promise, but it's pretty slow burning.  
> I don't know how often I'll post, I'll try to make it once a week though, promise.  
> I don't have a beta, any mistakes are my own. This is my first work here, so criticism is welcome, lovelies, just don't be assholes. 
> 
> I do not own anything, all characters belong to J.K Rowling.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter title from “Stuck on The Puzzle” by Alex Turner

His footsteps sound like an invasion into what remains of James and Lily Potter’s home, a noise that suspends the dizzying silence Sirius first felt ringing through his ears when Albus called him, told him that the Potter house had been attacked.

He wants to turn around and run away and scream and die all at the same time, wants to believe that they’re still alive, still breathing and laughing and _alive_. There are red-cloaked aurors behind him holding back a crowd of curious neighbors, fucking vultures that they are, and Sirius just wants them to leave because this feels like it should be private.

Albus clearly anticipated this because he’s waiting inside with another auror and cradling a bundle enveloped in an ash stained blanket that must be his godson, whom he immediately takes from his mentor and holds to his chest, just like Lily taught him.

He looks up at Albus, knows his face is pale and gaunt. 

“Are they…?”

The way Albus’ face crumples in a grimace is the only fucking answer he needs and Sirius wants to destroy something, so overwhelming is this feeling because they are _gone._

“No, no no no…” he trails off and his throat closes violently on the words, and if this is a nightmare he wants to fucking wake up.

He closes his eyes and buries his face into the blanket covering Harry’s head to muffle the godawful sob that wrenches its way out of his throat, and he’s barely keeping himself from falling to the fucking floor on his knees because this is just  _too much_. Two of his best friends are dead and Harry is an orphan now and Sirius wants to scream bloody murder at the world, wants to tell it to go fuck itself and he only registers that he’s soaking the blanket in tears and snot when a tiny, soot smudged hand is clumsily touching his chin.

The movement is jerky and uncoordinated and maybe Sirius is simply projecting this maelstrom of grief and loss and hurt onto Harry, but he feels that the underlying message is clear, ‘ _Here I am, and here you are, and we are here together now’_.

“He’s under your guardianship as his godfather now, Sirius” he hears Dumbledore say, as though from a faraway distance. He can only nod in response, softly so as to not jostle the little tykes hand from his face. It takes him a moment to process what Albus said, but once he does he almost instantly calms down because he’s in charge of a fucking baby now and if he’s going to be a good guardian, he needs to bloody act like one.

He opens his eyes, lifts his head and says “Yeah-”, pausing to clear his throat because it still feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself. “Yes, I know. I need to gather his things and take him back to my place”, he says quietly and his voice still feels heavy and thick from containing sobs yet firm in his adamancy to take up the mantle he’s been given, and he feels proud of that at least.

“I’ll have Molly come over and collect whatever we can find here and help you get Harry settled in. She’ll be frantic to help when she finds out”, Dumbledore replies, and Sirius can’t help but to release a heavy sigh of relief because, as accepting and intent as he is on his abrupt role as Harry’s guardian, he doesn’t know shit all on how to raise a kid. From what he’s heard of Molly Weasley, she’d be the perfect guide to teach him how to raise Harry to be a fully functioning, healthy adult.

“Thank you, Albus,” he murmurs, looking back down at the tiny human in his arms. Sirius usually isn’t too comfortable around children, is afraid that he might treat them moronically because kids are an entirely different kind of intelligent, in his opinion. They just seem to _know_ things about people. Their emotions and reactions are blunt and raw because they haven’t quite learned how to control that part of themselves yet. It’s as alarming as it is fascinating. 

But he seemed to have clicked with Harry when they were first introduced almost instantly. The little monster was miles more mischievous than his father but had the same compassionate seriousness that Lily effortlessly exuded.

All too suddenly, Sirius remembers why he’d actually been called to floo here in the first place.

“It was Peter, wasn’t it?”, he says in a blank voice, because how else could the Dark Lord have fucking gotten through the Fidelius Charm that Sirius _oh so conveniently_ passed responsibility of onto Peter, the only person who could have given him access to the Potter’s home.

A contained sigh leaves Dumbledore before he replies, “Yes. He fled after Voldemort was given access to the house but was confronted by responding aurors and attempted to escape behind a blasting charm. It was mostly contained, but a few muggles too close to the range of the blast were injured. Mr. Pettigrew is currently awaiting trial in Azkaban,” he finishes, and Sirius goes statue-still, lifting his eyes to stare at blank space, anything that isn’t Harry’s tear streaked, soot covered face because to hear Peters betrayal confirmed, spoken aloud means that this is all his fault.

He wants to claw at his fucking face and maybe go drown in a ditch somewhere, because _he’s_ responsible for their murder, _he_ made Peter their secret keeper, they wouldn’t be fucking dead if _he_ hadn’t made the god damn rat the only obstacle between them and a murdering psychopath.

He definitely wants to go drown in a ditch, maybe set himself on fire and the rest of the world itself with him because everything is so, so fucking dark.

The hand still nestled against his chin weakly grasps at the tangled mess of the beard that he’s been neglecting for the past week and he’s brought back from his self-loathing, depressive downward spiral, because he has someone to take care of now, doesn’t he? He can’t go drown himself in a ditch somewhere despite how much he’d like to, because he owes it to Harry to be here _now_ , to look after him _now_.

Sirius feels like he’s holding the world in his arms, one made of messy midnight hair like James and glowing green eyes like Lily, still looking up at him like his godson is happy to see him but is still trying to figure out why Sirius is here, why he hasn’t seen his mom or dad for a while and Sirius feels an all-encompassing wave of _protect_ crash over him. He might not be Harry’s father, but fuck if he isn’t going to make sure the kid knows he’s loved.

  

* * *

 

When Harry turns three years old, Sirius begins to teach him about magic, about the world. Sirius tells him how precious his magic is, how it’s a part of the world around them and lives inside every witch, wizard, and magical creature. He tells Harry about his parents, Lily and James Potter, how they died when he was very young but loved him very dearly.

When Harry turns four years old, Sirius tells him about why people stare at him when he and Sirius venture out for supplies. Sirius tells him about a boy named Tom Riddle who grew up to become the darkest wizard of his time, how the very same boy grew up to murder Harry’s parents and countless others. He tells Harry how Voldemort sought to murder the Potters but was defeated by a mere infant, leaving nothing behind but a lightning bolt shaped scar carved on a little boy’s forehead and an abandoned, broken home.

When Harry turns five years old, Sirius hears him use his first swear word because Sirius is _horrible_ at tampering down his tendency to swear around his godson. When he hears Harry yell _“fuck_!” at the top of his lungs after stubbing his toe against a doorway, Sirius bursts out laughing and can’t stop thinking about how fucking _hilarious_ it is to hear a five-year-old say something that crude so confidently. Once he has full control of his lungs again, Sirius takes Harry aside and only warns him against swearing in public.

When Harry turns six years old, he is woken up so often from nightmares about “ _the scary yellow eyed man_ ” and “ _screaming green lights_ ” that he has taken to sleeping with Sirius when night approaches. Sirius is horrified that his godson remembers anything from that night, wishes he could take the memories away and throw them into a fucking pit at the other side of the world where they belong, but he won’t. Obliviating the memory is too risky to do on a child, and Sirius refuses to deny anything about that night from Harry.

When Harry turns seven years old, Sirius moves them to his parents’ home in Grimmauld Place. Its empty and dusty, but Sirius makes cleaning and remodeling it into a summer project for both of them. Moving here is the last thing he wants to do, but Sirius feels more and more inclined to begin teaching Harry about basic defensive and offensive magic. The wizarding world might say Voldemort is gone, vanquished, _dead_ , but Sirius knows monsters like that don’t stay dead for long. Sirius can feel it in his bones, knows that Harry will be faced with his nightmares once again. Some might call him paranoid, but he’s still an auror and he’s never ignored his gut nor his experience, and he’ll do anything to protect his godson.

When Harry turns eight years old, Sirius catches him staring into blank spaces like they aren’t actually blank, hears him talking to things that aren’t actually there. He’s concerned at first, worries that Harry’s childhood trauma might have caused lasting psychological effects on his godson that are only just now beginning to manifest, but nothing else ever comes from Harry’s strange behavior. He doesn’t act out, isn’t overly aggressive nor overly timid. When the odd behavior suddenly stops, Sirius puts it out of his mind and blames it on the overactive imagination of a child.

When Harry turns nine years old, Sirius notices Harry’s facial structure starting to form, his body beginning to sprout upwards in intense, random growth spurts. His face is all James, a sharp jawline already starting to peak through his baby fat and his nose the same angled slope as his fathers. He has the same stupid dimple on his right cheek, the same impish smirk constantly teasing the corner of his mouth, and the same faint olive tone to his skin. His eyes though, his eyes are completely Lily’s. Not just the eye color, which seems to be intensifying more and more each year, but the shape and the behavior of them.

They’re shuttered off when interacting with strangers, years of being around Sirius’ distrustful nature drilling wariness into his every move, but they come _alive_ when Harry is happy or excited. Sirius sees her in Harry’s eyes, sees her confidence, her boundless compassion and endless patience. They’re the same soft almond shape, with the same dark circles that always seemed to be naturally present under Lily’s eyes.

Harry turns ten years old, and he would have needed glasses if Sirius hadn’t caught how horrible his eyesight was on time. It had been just as bad as his fathers and he’d had it corrected immediately, the magical capability to do so now readily available and relatively affordable. Harry’s black birds nest of hair, again just as bad as his fathers, has been allowed to grow longer because everything else they’ve tried just hasn’t been working. When cut short, it never lies flat, is prone to flying in all different directions, and is so thick that random shit gets caught in it all the time. It’s at his mid-neck now, always kept up in a ponytail so that it stays contained and out of his face, and detangled “ _every single night, mandatory”,_ before bed. 

Despite the uncanny similarities between Harry and his parents, Sirius refuses to see too much of them in him. He’s caught himself almost referring to Harry as “ _James”_ in his head, but instantly tampers the impulse to do so down because he never, _ever_ wants Harry to feel like Sirius expects him to be someone he doesn’t want to be, never wants Harry to feel like Sirius doesn’t recognize him as his own person. James and Lily are dead and gone, and even though that old, painful nostalgia will still occasionally wash over him and he’ll wish they could see how amazing their little boy is, wish they could experience the same pride Sirius feels when he looks at Harry, he refuses to allow old demons of the past to keep haunting their present.

 

 


	2. Let Me Go, Applause Ain't a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, WOW, did it actually take me two weeks to post another chapter? 
> 
> So so so so sorry, the dialogue for this was killing me and my perfectionist-obsessive tendencies wouldn't let me leave it alone until I was proud of it. So hey, its late but I'm also hella happy with it, I hope you guys are too.
> 
> Anyway, I was going to split the school years up into one chapter each, but that's apparently not happening now? I'm thinking the amount of chapters I make for each year will depend on how much is actually going to happen in each one, so yeah. 
> 
> Again, this is a pretty huge canon divergence so if I leave any plot holes or questions unanswered, just let me know and I'll perform some grade-A improvisation ;)
> 
> Last thing, little note for how god damn adorable Sirius is, oh my god. I've always thought that if this AU had been a thing Sirius would be adorably goofy and affectionate, but also hella terrifying and protective of Harry and really being the trained auror that he was, y'know?
> 
> Anyway, enjoy. I dunno how often I'll be able to post, 'cause I'm taking summer classes and Math 102 is kicking my ass right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “Tightrope” by Black Taxi

 

“Where are we going first, Sirius?” Harry asks, almost jumping up and down in his excitement as he and Sirius meander down Diagon Alley. “Can we get my wand first, please? Please please please?”

Sirius chuckles, looking up from Harry’s Hogwarts letter, “No, let’s get the boring stuff done first. You’ll thank me later, promise. On a scale from one to ten, how boring does a cauldron sound?”

“A nine, probably.”

“What about scales and phials?”

“Nine.”

“Telescope?” Sirius smirks, feeling his godson’s growing annoyance.

“Sirius, come on let’s just go get my wand first,” Harry says in exasperation, pointing to Ollivanders wand shop, which Sirius cheerfully ignores and walks past with Harry in tow.

“Nope, not happening pup. The telescope?”

“… Seven.”

“Text books?” Sirius continues, looking back down at the letter.

“Three.”

“Merlin help me, I’m raising a book worm,” Sirius mutters in response.

“Shove off, one of us needs to be educated,” Harry grumbles back.

“I’m an auror, I’m plenty educated. Robes?”

“Six.”

“Same, you’re gonna have to get one of those rubbish pointed hats they make students wear at feasts.”

“ _Please_ don't remind me, Fred and George told me all about it,” Harrys says, rubbing his hands over his face as though trying to rid himself of the memory.

“Sorry,” Sirius says, but his lips twitch in the way that Harry knows means he’s trying really hard not to grin. “Alright, let’s go to Potage’s first, then. We can pop into Slug and Jiggers for your scales and phials afterwards since it’s just next door.”

Harry drags his feet the entire time, not even bothering to disguise his internalized pity-party. Sirius merrily steers them into Potage’s Cauldron Shop, only throwing pointed glares at staring passersby instead of his usual relentless torrent of daggers.

Sirius is balanced on a very thin line between attentive and paranoid, in Harry’s opinion. He always walks a little to the side and behind Harry, “ _stay away”_ radiating from him in thick, intimidating waves, a trained eye pinning down people around them poised to walk over and shake Harry’s hand, hug him, or thank him. Harry doesn’t want to be stared at, certainly doesn’t want people to thank him for something he can’t even bloody remember doing. The cold behavior is necessary, he knows, but sometimes the idea of being _normal_ is just far too appealing.

Harry thinks this became a way of life for Sirius when Harry was six.

They’d gone out together in Diagon Alley looking for a present to give Molly for the Weasley’s Christmas party, the crowd of people around them bustling with holiday shopping and gleeful laughter. Sirius had been holding his hand and animatedly telling Harry about the time he dared James to go prancing around Hogsmeade as an escaped reindeer from Santa’s sleigh in his stag form, how Sirius had even thrown sleigh bells and torn leather reins on his dad’s back and chased after him dressed as an elf.

Harry was so captivated with the story that he’d missed the swipe of a foreign hand out of the corner of his eye until it was clamping down around his upper arm with bruising force. Harry remembers yelping and Sirius’ own hand shooting out to grab Harry’s wrist in a crushing hold a split second later, instantly yanking Harry away and shoving him behind Sirius. He remembers feeling terrified and confused as his godfather heaved the attacker up against the wall of a nearby building while the crowd of people behind them gasped and backed away from the scuffle.

With his wand viciously shoved into the man’s throat, Harry remembers Sirius flicking his other hand upwards in what Harry now knew to be an aurors call for back up in case of emergency scenarios just like this one.

His attacker had been hauled away by the two responding aurors and Sirius immediately picked Harry up to hold him closely to his chest, marching them towards the nearest floo, eyes murderous and lips pinched thin.

Harry asked him why the man tried to grab him the day after.

Sirius sighed, heavily as though he’d been holding his breath for a while and said “He was a convicted death eater. Released from Azkaban last week.”

Harry understood. Sirius had warned Harry about Voldemort’s followers before. He’d been told countless times, “ _stay close to me, Harry, never leave my sight in public or go anywhere outside of our home without my_ express  _permission. Do you understand?”_

He understood. More so because of the trepidation and genuine _fear_ that he saw in his godfather’s eyes at the thought of something happening to him, than the actual threat of harm from Voldemort’s abandoned death eaters and their wounded pride.

That hadn’t been enough, it seemed. Despite their cautious tip-toeing and the vigilant glances thrown over their shoulders, it hadn’t been enough. Harry felt that his godfather saw, suddenly, the very _fragile_ state of safety he kept Harry in.

It was soon after the attack that Sirius decided to move to them to his parent’s house, a massive, rickety old mansion hidden between two buildings of a muggle housing complex.

It was the complete opposite of their quant, cozy little cottage back in Falmouth. Harry _hated_ Number 12 Grimmauld Place, hated the smell of dust and mildew, despised the feeling of dark magic lingering in the air and crawling into Harry’s lungs like a parasite. The corridors and hallways went on and on and on, too many rooms to count and even more cursed objects for them to sort through.

Sirius said it was necessary, though, that the wards here were nearly impenetrable and that the house was arguably as safe as Hogwarts was against an attack. They’d spent the summer clearing the place out and began changing out boggart-infested, moth-eaten furniture for old leather and dark wood replacements. It took an entire year to completely remodel the house, but afterwards it quickly started to feel like a home.

“Three down, three to go,” he hears Sirius mumble to himself.

“Where to now?” he says as he and Sirius walk out of Wiseacre’s with the telescope Sirius apparently just bought, as well as a set of brass scales and crystal phials, a pewter cauldron, and a beginner’s ingredient kit.

“Welcome back, grumpy pants. Done pouting?”

“No, thank you.”

Sirius chuckles and says, “Tell you what, let me relive this experience in peace and I’ll let you get your own owl from Eeylops when we’re done, yeah?”

“… Really?” Harry asks, looking back at Sirius hopefully.

“’Course. You’re gonna send me letters from Hogwarts, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says with a grin.

“Brilliant. Hold on, I need to shrink all of this real quick. My arms are about to fall off.”

 

* * *

 

They got back from Diagon Alley approximately three hours ago and _yes, fine_ , he’s grateful Sirius insisted on getting the boring stuff first. The anticipated excitement of getting his wand and books was a fantastic way to end their trip, but Sirius doesn’t need to know that.

He must’ve been a good sport because on top of ice cream from Fortescue’s, Sirius let him get a fucking _raven_ instead of an owl when they passed by Magical Menagerie on their way to Eeylops. Harry saw the lovely, croaking black bird resting on a perch by the store’s window and almost didn’t say anything, because did Hogwarts even allow birds other than owls? They must, because Sirius saw his open-mouthed gaping and immediately steered them into the bustling pet shop.

They named her Abaddon, Abba for short. She was currently resting on a perch next to Florence, Sirius’ male barred owl by the large window of their sitting room, which Harry was currently lounging in.

“Sirius?” Harry calls.

“In here, pup,” is his godfathers muffled reply, seemingly from the direction of the kitchen area. 

Harry sits up from his slumped position on the sofa and walks into the kitchen where Sirius is chopping up vegetables for what looks like a pot of stew. He lingers in the doorway until Sirius looks up at him.

His wavy hair is pulled back into a pony-tail and he’s wearing the stupidly bright pink apron he bought a few years ago when they moved into Grimmauld Place, because _“the place needed some color.”_ Harry is pretty sure Sirius just bought it to make the move-in a little easier for Harry by giving him something to laugh at.

“Sit down, you look a little pale,” he says, waiting for Harry to comfortably seat himself at the table. “What’s on your mind?”

A large gap of silence follows. Sirius patiently holds it and continues slicing potatoes while Harry fiddles with his sleeves.

“What if I’m not in Gryffindor?” Harry finally says.

“Would that be bad?” Sirius asks, looking up from his growing pile of diced potatoes.

“I mean, no. Wouldn’t you want me to be in Gryffindor though?”

“I want you to be in whatever house _you_ want to be in, Harry.”

“… Really?”

“Yes, really. Even if its Hufflepuff,” his godfather says with a kind smirk.

Harry huffs softly in laughter then quiets again.

“Everyone’s gonna be staring at me, like they do in Diagon Alley,” he mumbles, and the pause of silence is longer this time. Sirius puts down his knife and turns to fully face the slouched, tiny figure sitting at the table.

“They will,” Sirius agrees with a nod. “The Weasley’s will be there, though. Ron, Fred and George.”

“Yeah,” Harry says after another moments consideration, eyes cast downward.

“You’ll make other friends too, I’m sure.”

“How do you know?"

“You’re plenty likeable beyond being the-boy-who-lived, pup.”

“I know that, I’m just not sure everyone else does.”

Sirius flicks his wand, spelling the knife to finish chopping the potatoes.

“Harry, look at me.”

His godson looks up at him, still pulling at the frayed edges of the sweater he’s wearing. Both of them prefer keeping the house cold because they love the illusion of winter but _despise_ actually being cold.

“You’re more than their hero. Let them put you on a pedestal, it won’t matter to the people who really care. They’ll see past the glorification and all the shit _The Daily Prophet_ writes about you and come to see you as just another person. You won’t be an outsider, I promise.”

Sirius is relieved to see Harry’s face relaxing significantly by the end of his spiel. 

“But also keep in mind, not everyone is gonna see you as their hero. There’ll be students in your year whose parents were either convicted or suspected death eaters. You remember what I taught you?" 

“ _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer_?” Harry recites back to him.

“Right. You’re smart, pup. Look for people who are genuine and hold them close, they’re hard to find. Look for people who want to use you and keep them where you can see them. Look for people who want to harm you and keep them under your control, where you can hurt them before they can hurt you. You have allies and people who care about your wellbeing, Harry, whether it’s out of self-interest or not doesn’t matter. What  _does_ matter is your sphere of influence and, consequently, your safety.”

“Right. Politics,” Harry mutters with a grimace.

“Politics,” Sirius agrees, a fond smile tugging at his lips. He turns back to the cutting board and dumps the heap of freshly diced potatoes into the boiling stew.

Harry isn’t sure why Sirius insists on cooking their meals himself when they’d hired a perfectly capable house elf upon moving into Grimmauld Place.

Sirius sent Kreacher, the old family house elf, away to work in the kitchens at Hogwarts when Sirius reclaimed the Black’s ancestral home. The elf had been living in a state of near madness when they renovated it and Harry remembers a plethora of blood slurs being violently thrown back in his godfathers face before Kreacher reluctantly disappeared with a snap of his wrinkled fingers and a loud _pop_.

Leafy, their current elf’s preferred name, was a sunny little personality who mainly took care of the house’s upkeep because Sirius _insisted_ on doing all of the cooking and baking himself.

Half the time, their meals either explode in the oven or end up getting burnt in suspiciously hilarious ways, but it usually works out because the muggle pizza joint only five minutes away makes the best pies Sirius swears he’s ever had. His godfathers cooking accidents would be far more annoying in any other context, undoubtedly.

Tonight though, Harry’s rooting for a successfully cooked meal because honestly, he’s getting fucking tired of pizza.

“Thanks, Siri-,” Harry abruptly stops because, “I think your bread’s burning.”

“I’ve just got hot buns,” Sirius replies with a grin, back inconveniently turned towards their smoking oven again.

“I’m serious!”

“No you’re not, I am-.”

The loud alarm from their oven interrupts them and Sirius jumps up and yells what Harry thinks is “ _Circe’ssaggytitsnotagain!_ ”

 


End file.
